The Summer Before the War - Helen Simonson (Extract)

7/25/2019 The Summer Before the War - Helen Simonson (Extract)

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F I C T I O N

Cover design: Emma Ewbank

East Sussex, 1914. Its the end of an idyllic summer and Hugh Grange, downfrom his medical studies, is visiting his Aunt Agatha in the pretty coastal town

of Rye. Casting aside the recent sabre-rattling over the Balkans, Agatha hasmore immediate concerns; she has just risked her carefully built reputation by

pushing for the appointment of a woman to replace the Latin master.

When Beatrice Nash arrives, it is clear she is significantly more free thinkingand attractivethan anyone believes a Latin teacher should be. For her part,

mourning the death of her beloved father who has left her penniless, Beatricesimply wants to be left alone to pursue her teaching and writing.

But just as Beatrice comes alive to the beauty of the Sussex landscape, and thecolourful characters that populate Rye, the per fect summer is about to end. For

despite Agathas reassurances, the unimaginable iscoming. Soon, everything will be tested

as this small Sussex town and itsinhabitants go to war.

Helen Simonsons characters enchant us, her Englishcountryside beguiles us, and her historical intelligencekeeps us at the edge of our seats. Annie Barrows, co-authorof Te Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.


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The

Summer Beforethe War

HELEN SIMONSON


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To my parents,

Alan and Margaret Phillips

First published in Australia and New Zealand by Allen & Unwin in 2016First published in Great Britain in 2016 by Bloomsbury, an imprint of BloomsburyPublishing Plc

Copyright Helen Simonson 2016

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given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

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Part One

It was in the first place, after the strangest fashion, a

sense of the extraordinary way in which the most benign

conditions of light and air, of sky and sea, the most

beautiful English summer conceivable, mixed themselves

with all the violence of action and passion, the other so

hideous and piteous, so heroic and tragic facts, and

flouted them as with the example of something far

superior. Never were desperate doings so blandly lighted

up as by the two unforgettable months that I was to

spend so much of in looking over from the old rampart

of a little high-perched Sussex town at the bright blue

streak of the Channel.

H J, Within the Rim


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CHAPTER ONE

T R rose from the flat marshes like an island,

its tumbled pyramid of red-tiled roofs glowing in the slant-

ing evening light. The high Sussex bluffs were a massive,

unbroken line of shadow from east to west, the fields

breathed out the heat of the day, and the sea was a sheet of

hammered pewter. Standing at the tall French windows,Hugh Grange held his breath in a vain attempt to suspend

the moment in time as he used to do when he was a little

boy, in this same, slightly shabby drawing room, and the

lighting of the lamps had been the signal for his aunt to

send him to bed. He smiled now to think of how long and

late those summer evenings had run and how he had alwayscomplained bitterly until he was allowed to stay up well

beyond bedtime. Small boys, he now knew, were inveterate

fraudsters and begged, pleaded and cajoled for added

rights and treats with innocent eyes and black hearts.


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The three boys his aunt had asked him to tutor this

summer had relieved him of half a sovereign and most of

his books before he realised that they neither were as

hungry as their sighs proposed nor had any interest in

Ivanhoeexcept for what it might bring when flogged to

the man with the secondhand bookstall in the town

market. He held no grudge. Instead he admired their

ferret wits and held some small dream that his brief teach-

ing and example might turn sharpness into some

intellectual curiosity by the time the grammar school

began again.

The door to the drawing room was opened with a robust

hand, and Hughs cousin, Daniel, stood back with a mock

bow to allow their aunt Agatha to pass into the room.

Aunt Agatha says there isnt going to be a war, said Daniel,coming in behind her, laughing. And so of course there

wont be. They would never dream of defying her. Aunt

Agatha tried to look severe but only managed to cross her

eyes and almost stumbled into a side table due to the

sudden blurring of her vision.

That isnt what I said at all, she said, trying to secureher long embroidered scarf, an effort as futile as resting a

flat kite on a round boulder, thought Hugh, as the scarf

immediately began to slide sideways again. Aunt Agatha

was still a handsome woman at forty-five, but she was

inclined to stoutness and had very few sharp planes on

which to drape her clothing. Tonights dinner dress, in slip-pery chiffon, possessed a deep, sloppy neckline and long

Oriental sleeves. Hugh hoped it would maintain its dignity

through dinner, for his aunt liked to embellish her conver-

sation with expansive gestures.


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What does Uncle John say? asked Hugh, stepping to a

tray of decanters to pour his aunt her usual glass of

Madeira. No chance hes coming down tomorrow? He

had hoped to ask his uncles opinion on a smaller but no

less important subject. After years devoted to his medical

studies, Hugh found himself not only on the point of

becoming primary assistant surgeon to Sir Alex Ramsey,

one of Englands leading general surgeons, but also quite

possibly in love with his surgeons very pretty daughter,

Lucy. He had held rather aloof from Lucy the past year,

perhaps to prove to himself, and others, that his affection

for her was not connected to any hopes of advancement.

This had only made him a favourite of hers among the

various students and younger doctors who flocked around

her father, but it was not until this summer, when sheand her father left for an extended lecture tour in the

Italian Lakes, that he had felt a pleasurable misery in her

absence. He found he missed her dancing eyes, the toss of

her pale hair as she laughed at some dry comment he made;

he even missed the little spectacles she wore to copy her

fathers case files or reply to his voluminous correspond-ence. She was fresh from the schoolroom and sometimes

distracted by all the pleasures London offered bright young

people, but she was devoted to her father and would make,

thought Hugh, an exceptional wife for a rising young

surgeon. He wished to discuss, with some urgency, whether

he might be in a position to contemplate matrimony.Uncle John was a sensible man and through the years

had always seemed swiftly to understand whatever diffi-

culty Hugh stammered out and would help talk the matter

over until Hugh was convinced he had resolved some


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intractable problem all on his own. Hugh was no longer a

small boy and now understood some of his uncles wisdom

to be the result of diplomatic training, but he knew his

uncles affection to be genuine. His own parents parting

words, as they left for a long-awaited year of travel, had

been to apply to Uncle John in any case of need.

Your uncle says they are all working feverishly to

smooth things over, before everyones summer holiday,

said his aunt. He tells me nothing, of course, but the Prime

Minister and the Foreign Secretary spent much of the day

closeted with the King. Uncle John was a senior official in

the Foreign Office, and the usually sleepy summer precincts

of Whitehall had been crammed with busy civil servants,

politicians and generals since the Archdukes assassination

in Sarajevo. Anyway, he telephoned to say he met theschoolteacher and transferred her to Charing Cross to

catch the last train, so shell be getting in after dinner. Well

give her a late supper.

At such a late hour, wouldnt it be kinder to deliver her

to her rooms in town and maybe have Cook send down

something cold? said Daniel, ignoring Hughs proffereddry sherry and pouring a glass of Uncle Johns best whisky.

Im sure shell be horribly fagged and not up to a room

full of people in evening dress. He tried to keep a neutral

face, but Hugh detected a slight moue of distaste at the

thought of entertaining the new schoolteacher his aunt had

found. Since graduating from Balliol in June, Danielhad spent the first few weeks of the summer in Italy as the

guest of an aristocratic college chum, and had developed a

sense of social superiority that Hugh was dying to see Aunt

Agatha knock out of his silly head. Instead Agatha had


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been patient, saying, Oh, let him have his taste of the high

life. Dont you think his heart will be broken soon enough?

When Daniel goes into the Foreign Office this autumn, as

your uncle John has taken such pains to arrange, Im sure

his friend will drop him in an instant. Let him have his

hour of glamour.

Hugh was of the opinion that Daniel should be made to

understand his place, but he loved his aunt Agatha and he

thought any continued argument might lead her to think

he resented Daniel being her favourite. Daniels mother,

Agathas sister, had died when Daniel was only five, and his

father was a strange, distant sort of man. Daniel had been

sent to boarding school a month after his mothers death,

and Agatha had been his refuge in the Christmas and summer

holidays. Hugh had always been torn about Christmas. Hespent it at home in London with his parents, who loved him

and made a great fuss of him. He would have preferred if

they could have all gone down to Sussex to Agathas house

together, but his mother, who was Uncle Johns sister, liked

to be among her friends in town, and his father did not

like to be away from the bank too long at Christmas. Hughhad been happy in the midst of piles of striped wrapping

paper, huge mysterious boxes and the dishes of sweets and

fruits set all around their Kensington villa. But sometimes,

when hed been sent to bed and the music from his parents

guests drifted up to his room, he would lie in bed and peer

out of the window over the dark rooftops and try to see allthe way to Sussex, where no doubt Aunt Agatha was tucking

Daniel in with one of her wild stories of giants and elves

who lived in caves under the Sussex Downs and whose

parties could be mistaken sometimes as thunder.


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Dont be silly, Daniel. Miss Nash will stay here this

evening, said Aunt Agatha, bending to switch on the elec-

tric lamp by the flowered couch. She sat down and stretched

out her feet, which were encased in Oriental slippers

embroidered, rather strangely, with lobsters. I had to fight

to bring the full weight of the School Board to bear on the

governors to hire a woman. I mean to get a good look at

her and make sure she understands whats to be done.

The local grammar school was one of his aunts many

social causes. She believed in education for all and seemed

to expect great leaders of men to emerge from the grubby-

kneed group of farmers and merchants boys who crowded

the new red-brick school building out beyond the railway

tracks.

You mean you want her to get a good look at you, saidHugh. Im sure shell be suitably cowed.

Im with the governors, said Daniel. It takes a man to

keep a mob of schoolboys in line.

Nonsense, said Agatha. Besides, you cant just drum up

teachers these days. Our last Latin master, Mr Puddlecombe,

was only here a year and then he had the nerve to tell ushe was off to try his luck with a cousin in Canada.

Well, school had almost broken up for the summer,

Auntie, said Hugh.

Which made it all the more impossible, said Agatha.

We were fortunate that your Uncle John spoke to Lord

Marbely and that Lady Marbely had been looking for aposition for this young woman. She is a niece apparently,

and the Marbelys highly recommended her; though I did

get a hint that maybe they had an ulterior motive for

getting her out of Gloucestershire.


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Do they have a son? asked Daniel. Thats usually the

story.

Oh no, Lady Marbely took pains to assure me shes

quite plain, said Aunt Agatha. I may be progressive, but I

would never hire a pretty teacher.

Wed better eat dinner soon, said Hugh, consulting the

battered pocket watch that had been his grandfathers and

that his parents were always begging to replace with some-

thing more modern. The dinner gong rang just as he spoke.

Yes, Id like to digest properly before this paragon

descends upon us, said Daniel, downing the rest of his

glass in a swallow. I assume I have to be introduced and

cant just hide in my room?

Would you go with Smith to pick her up, Hugh? said

Agatha. Two of you would probably overwhelm the poorgirl, and obviously I cant trust Daniel not to sneer at her.

What if Hugh falls in love with her? asked Daniel.

Hugh was tempted to retort that his affections were already

engaged, but his matrimonial intentions were too impor-

tant to be subjected to Daniels disrespectful teasing, and

so he merely gave his cousin a look of scorn. After all,added Daniel, Hugh is so terribly plain himself.

Beatrice Nash was quite sure she had a large smut of soot

on her nose, but she did not want to take out her pocket

mirror again in case doing so roused the inebriated youngman opposite her to further flights of compliment. She had

checked her face soon after leaving Charing Cross, and he

had taken the tiny gold mirror as some recognised signal of

coy flirtation. Her book had been further cause for


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conversation, though he did not seem to recognise the

Trollope name and then confessed he had no use for read-

ing. He had even proffered the use of his small bag for her

feet, and she had tucked her ankles hard back under the

seat, fearing that he might whip off her shoes.

She had scolded him severely when they changed trains

in Kent and he followed her into her chosen compartment.

He had backed away, laughing, but the train had already

started. Now they were stuck together in a compartment

without access to a corridor. He was sunk into the appear-

ance of a petulant doze, and she sat rigid, her back straight

against the prickly fabric of the bench, trying not to breathe

in the stench of stale liquor or feel the insolent proximity

of his outstretched legs in pressed white flannels and shiny,

buckled brown shoes.She kept her face turned to the window and let the image

of wet green fields run freely across her eyes until the sheep,

grass and sky blurred into painted streaks. She wished now

she had not refused the Marbelys offer to send a servant

to accompany her. She had been tormented by Ada

Marbelys long discussion of what conveyance might beavailable to reach the station and who might be spared.

She had been made to understand that her transfer was a

very, very large inconvenience and that of course they

could not offer to send her in the car, or send anyone from

the permanent household staff. She had hidden her humili-

ation behind a firm claim of independence. She remindedthem that she had travelled widely with her father, from

the American West to the kasbahs of Morocco and the

lesser-known classical sites of southern Italy, and was

perfectly capable of seeing herself and one trunk to Sussex,


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by farm cart if needed. She had been adamant and now

understood that she had only herself to blame for being

exposed to the indignities of travelling alone. She managed

a small smile at her own stubbornness.

All women can be pretty when they smile, said the

man. She whipped her face around to glare at him, but his

eyes appeared to be still closed, and his face, round and

sweating, remained sunk on its thick neck, wrapped in a

greasy yellow cravat. He scratched at his shirtfront and

yawned without covering his mouth, as if she didnt exist.

It was the cheapest kind of rebuke, to call a woman ugly,

but one to which small boys and grown men seemed

equally quick to stoop when feeling challenged. While she

had always playfully dismissed her fathers insistence on

calling her his beauty, she believed she had a pleasant,regular face and took pride in a certain strength about the

chin and a straight posture. That such an insult was a lie

never seemed to reduce its effectiveness, and she could only

bite her lip not to give him the satisfaction of a response.

The train slowed in a great hissing fog of steam and she

felt a flood of relief to hear the stationmaster calling, Rye.Rye station. She jumped up to take down her bag, lowered

the window, heedless of the threat of flying cinders, and

had her hand on the outside doorknob ready to open it at

the earliest moment.

Now the stars align, said the young man, coming to

press her towards the door, his bag against her leg. Shealmost wept to feel him breathing on her neck. If youre

staying in the area you must allow me to call on you.

She opened the door and stepped from the carriage,

nearly falling to the platform as the train gave a last lurch.


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She hit her left ankle with her bag and felt at least one

hairpin come away from the side of her head. Not caring

for her appearance or the pain, she fled towards the

baggage car to retrieve her trunk and ran right into a man

standing enveloped in the steam. She could not prevent a

cry of fear as he grasped her elbow to stop them both from

falling.

Are you all right? asked the man. Im terribly sorry.

Let go of me, she said, and she could hear her voice

fierce with suppressed rage.

The man, a young man, stepped back, raising his hands

in submission. I meant no offence, miss, he said. Im terri-

bly sorry.

I saw her first, Grange, said the man from the train.

Please leave me alone, said Beatrice, holding her handto her face. She was suddenly too exhausted to fight any

more. Her rage drained away, and she could feel her limbs

tremble as if the light breeze were a winter squall.

Wheaton, youre an ugly drunk, said the young man in

a voice so calm he might have been talking about the

weather. Cant you tell a respectable young woman fromone of your floozies? Behave yourself.

Didnt think you were much for the ladies, Grange,

said Wheaton with a sly chuckle. Or is that just your pretty

cousin, Daniel?

Dont be a bully, Wheaton, the young man replied. Go

home before Im obliged to make you go. No doubt youllpound me into the ground, but youll ruin those perfectly

good clothes doing it.

Im going; expected home for the fatted calf by my

sobbing mother, said Wheaton, unruffled by the veiled


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threat of physical harm. You can have the schoolteacher.

He staggered away, and Beatrice felt her face flush.

Are you Miss Nash? asked the young man. She looked

at him but could not trust herself to speak. Im Hugh

Grange. My aunt, Agatha Kent, sent me to meet you.

I think I need to sit down, she said. She could tell the

young man had kind grey eyes, but she saw nothing else as

the whole station began to slowly spin. Please dont allow

me to faint.

Heres a bench, he said, and she felt his hand tugging

urgently at her elbow. She sank down. Good. Hang your

head below your knees and breathe, he added, and she felt

her head pushed down towards the dusty bricks of the

platform. She breathed deep, slow breaths and relief came

as a light sweat on her forehead.Sorry. Ridiculous of me.

Not at all. She could see only a pair of country boots,

well oiled but creased and scuffed with age. Im sorry

Wheaton upset you.

He did no such thing. I just I should have eaten more

lunch, thats all. I usually eat very well when I travel.Its important to keep up ones strength, he said, and

though she could not detect any note of sarcasm, she felt

the anger she had held in all day return. She shivered

again, and the young man, his fingers on the pulse in her

left wrist, added, Shall I go and ask the stationmaster for

some water, or do you think you can make it out to thecar? We really should get you to my aunt Agathas right

away.

Im perfectly all right, she said, standing up slowly. I

must see to my trunk and bicycle.


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Smith will arrange to fetch them later from the station-

master, he said. Let me carry your bag.

Beatrice hesitated, but there was no hint of condescen-

sion in the young mans tone, and his blunt face showed

worry in a single vertical crease between the eyes. He was

trying to treat her well. She understood that not just in the

past couple of hours, but in the past few months, she had

lost some trust in how people would treat her. She blinked

her eyes and handed him her bag without a word. He took

it and hefted its unexpected weight.

Sorry, she said. I packed too many books as always.

Thats quite all right, he said as he took her arm and

steered her out through a side gate. Though I hate to think

how heavy the trunk must be. Maybe Ill ask the station-

master to telephone for a cart and save the car frombreaking an axle.

On the ride up the hill away from town, the young

woman kept her face averted and her gaze fixed on the

passing hedges and cottages. Hugh contemplated the curve

of her long neck with the thick brown hair loosely bunched

at the nape. She must have been tired, and yet she did nothave the rounded slump of permanent defeat that seemed

to Hugh to be the hallmark of the schoolteachers he had

known. Even his professors at Oxford, many of them

secure in family and finances, had seemed to bow over time

as if under the perpetual onslaught of student ignorance.

The womans summer travelling coat was made of thick,supple linen that seemed of some quality, and her trim

jacket and skirt were fashionably narrow, though

unadorned. He judged her to be almost his own age;

perhaps twenty-two or -three to his august twenty-four.


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While she was not a tremulous girl fresh from the school-

room, she was far from the dull spinster he had been

expecting. He acknowledged a flicker of interest best inves-

tigated and fanned by conversation.

I apologise again for poor Wheaton, he said. Hes

perfectly gentlemanly around women when hes sober, but

when he drinks he sort of launches himself at any female in

the vicinity.

Dont apologise, she said. Obviously it was my fault,

then, for occupying a railway carriage in which he wished

to ride?

Hugh found himself flushing under her stare. Not what

I meant at all, he said. But men like Wheaton . . .

Are there different kinds, then? she asked.

Different kinds?Of men? Only, the majority seem prone to some similar

lapse of manners under the influence of alcohol. She

pressed her lips together, and Hugh began to wonder how

to get himself out of the conversation.

Do you wish me to apologise on behalf of us all? he

asked, quietly.I would prefer you did not apologise for anyone else,

she said. My father always says that if we were as quick to

own our own faults as we are to apologise for those of

others, society might truly advance.

Id say hes right, but woefully optimistic, said Hugh.

Very religious man, is he? He had a vision of a purse-lippedtemperance type with thin fingers tapping the cover of a Bible.

The girl gave what could only be described as a snort of

laughter and then covered her mouth with her gloved hand

and seemed to struggle with her emotions.


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Sorry, said Hugh, unable to bite back the word.

Thank you, she said at last. A smile transformed her

face and set her brown eyes alight. He died a year ago, and

I didnt think it would be possible to laugh about him

again.

Not religious then, said Hugh.

No, she said. Not exactly. But I do hope you wont

repeat it to your aunt. Im sure schoolteachers are expected

to have irreproachable parents.

Im sure they are, he said. Have you studied their other

attributes?

She gave him a doubtful look.

I assure you Im completely qualified, she said. But Ive

been told I have to work harder to cultivate an appropriate

attitude of grateful subordination.Lucky for you, my aunt has taken such a stand with the

school governors that she would be loath to tell them her

candidate was unsuitable, he said as they drew up on the

broad gravel forecourt of his aunts comfortable villa. He

meant it in fun, but he noticed the young woman looked

worried as Smith opened her door. As she preceded him into meet Aunt Agatha, he wondered if he should also have

mentioned to her that she was in no way as plain as his

aunt would have preferred.


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B straight away. While its design

conjured up a medieval hall bred with a couple of thatched

cottages, its large, commodious rooms, electric lights and

bright floors spoke of commerce and energy, not a house-

hold turning into stone under the geologic pressure of its

own lineage. Lady Marbely had moved with the slow dragof a woman waiting her interment in the family crypt, her

life and home dusty with protocol and made reclusive by

walls of superiority. Beatrice did not know how Agatha

Kent and her husband really stood in the world, but she

did not think they were likely to pounce on all the flaws in

her bloodline before the soup was on the dinner table.You must be Beatrice and you must be hungry, said a

plump woman in a slippery Oriental gown, coming out of

the open glass doors leading to a living room with many

lamps. She was of that certain age when the bloom of

CHAPTER TWO


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youth must give way to strength of character, but her face

was handsome in its intelligent eyes and commanding

smile, and her hair retained a youthful spring as it threat-

ened to escape from its carefully pinned rolls. Im Agatha

Kent, and this is my nephew, Daniel Bookham.

How do you do, he said without even a conventional

trace of interest.

Though she had chosen to put the romantic notions of

the schoolgirl behind her, Beatrice was not yet immune to

a handsome face. With carefully dishevelled brown hair

falling into blue eyes, the sharpest of jawlines and an

almost downy moustache, Daniel Bookham was a very

striking young man. Though she told herself that he was

absurd in his carelessly tied cravat and generally bohemian

affect, she was forced to squash a brief disappointmentthat he was younger than her.

And youve already met my other nephew, Hugh

Grange, added Agatha. Beatrice turned and reconsidered

him in the bright light of the front hall. He was taller than

Daniel by a head, and plain in a way that might be consid-

ered handsome when not compared directly to the almostclassical form of his younger cousin. As his aunt dispensed

him to see to the luggage and called for the maid to show

her to her room, Beatrice decided it would be prudent to

keep her eyes firmly in Hugh Granges direction.

It was probably the third-best guest room, thought Beatrice,

small and furnished with a narrow oak bed and a simple

writing desk, but pleasantly decorated with blue striped

wallpaper and flowery chintz curtains. A lace-skirted sink,


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with running water, occupied one corner, and a large

window stood open to the night and the fragrance of the

garden. In the distance, a shimmer of silver indicated

the moonlit sea. Across the hall, the maid had proudly

displayed a bathroom containing an enormous tub with a

frightening array of brass taps and an ornate mahogany

throne, the raised seat of which revealed an indoor water

closet. A carved mahogany tank set high on the wall and a

long brass chain gave it an almost ecclesiastical air.

I know how to operate it, thank you, said Beatrice,

forestalling the maids instructions.

Theres no other guests in this wing, said the maid. So

youll have it to yourself.

Are the gentlemen not staying? asked Beatrice.

They like to stay in their old rooms on the top floor,said the maid. Cant imagine how Master Hugh manages

to sleep in that little bed of his, scrunched up like a hedge-

hog I expect, but he wont hear of moving, and Master

Daniel tried the green room at the front for a while, but

Master Hugh teased him something dreadful and Mrs

Kent wouldnt let him smoke cigars because the curtainswere all new, so he was pretty soon off upstairs again. Her

voice softened as she hurried on, and Beatrice thought

better of the young men for inspiring such affection.

She remembered her father and the fierce loyalty he had

commanded in the many servants who had looked after

the two of them. How sweet, and yet how bitter the manypartings. How many times had she been pillowed against

the bosom of a sobbing housekeeper who had stroked her

hair and begged her to write? Once they had taken a maid

with them, to Italy, and the maid had been almost


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prostrate with grief at letting them down, but found it

impossible to accustom herself to foreign parts. Beatrice

could summon too easily the cold railway platform, the

tearstained face of the maid in the train window, and

herself, a thin child, controlling a wave of shivers

and resolving to keep the next maid at more of a distance.

Each kind servant and they were all employed by her

father for their kindness rather than for any great skills in

cleaning or cooking, it seemed was held a little more

distant than the last, until she could look now at Agatha

Kents maid with a completely dispassionate appraisal.

The breathless girl was struggling to remain haughty. No

doubt the servants all knew Beatrice was a schoolteacher,

and it was a funny thing about those in service, thought

Beatrice, that they could be as rude as revolutionaries tothose just above them while remaining unconditionally loyal

to their masters. The girl was clearly friendly at heart, a stout

worker, and had a local accent that probably made her suffer

the condescension of others. Beatrice gave her a broad smile.

Thank you for being so kind, Jenny, she said.

Ill fetch you some supper up right away, said the girl.She smiled back, and no trace of haughtiness remained.

Coming downstairs in a fresh blouse and a shawl, Beatrice

met Daniel crossing the entrance hall.

Ah, wait here one minute and Ill ask Aunt Agathawhere she wants you, he said, disappearing through the

living-room doors.

Beatrice paused on the bottom stair, gripping the banister

until her wrist ached. She murmured, very fast, Humiliation


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is the sport of the petty, an admonition of her fathers that

she had found all too useful this past year.

Shall I put the schoolteacher in the small study? she

heard Daniel ask.

Oh, heavens no, theres no fire in there and its distinctly

chilly after dark. Ask her to come in here.

Daniel appeared in the doorway, a frown marring his

classical features, and waved at her. In here, miss. Dont be

shy, were very informal.

I assure you I was not raised to be shy, said Beatrice,

her voice sharp. A country living room holds no terrors for

me.

Do you hear that, Aunt? said Daniel. Not everyone is

terrified of you.

I should hope not, said Agatha, reclining in one cornerof an overstuffed sofa. Why, I am the mildest mannered of

women and I get on with everyone.

Hugh, sitting in a wing chair by the fireplace, seemed to

choke on his own laughter and took a swig from his glass

as he got to his feet.

See, even Hugh will tell you my aunt is a most formida-ble woman. Daniel smiled at Beatrice, but she was now

immune to his charms, inoculated by his casual arrogance.

You boys are very rude, said Agatha. Why dont you

offer Miss Nash a drink, Daniel? Do come and sit by me,

Miss Nash.

Nothing for me, thank you, said Beatrice, who wouldhave loved a small glass of port but knew better than to

ask. It had taken several weeks for Lady Marbely to stop

commenting on how unusual it was for a lady to be so

knowledgeable about port and how sad it was that she had


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22

had no mother to counteract her fathers more unusual

ideas about what was suitable.

Did you have enough to eat? asked Agatha. I can ring

for some fruit.

No thank you, the supper was lovely, and my room is

very comfortable. It is so nice of you to have me.

Well, I think its important that we get to know each

other, preferably before the rest of the town. We have

important work to do, Miss Nash, and it is vital that you

and I understand each other completely.

I think thats our signal to leave, said Daniel. Hugh

and I will go and have that game of billiards now.

Hugh must talk to you about the tutoring, said Agatha, asthe young men left the room.

Tutoring?

Some local boys, protgs of mine. I told him you were

looking for some private tutoring over the summer, and he

was very pleased to pass them on to you. Nothing too

taxing is involved just a little help in the more advancedLatin.

I should be honoured, said Beatrice. I tutored the three

daughters of a professor at our California university, and it

was fascinating to watch how Latin blossomed among

such a small and eager group.

Im not sure the boys are such blossoms, said Agatha,giving her a doubtful look. Hugh agrees they are bright

boys, and one in particular may prove our efforts worth-

while, but they are somewhat rowdy and defiant.


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23

Sometimes the hardest challenges are most deserving of

our efforts, said Beatrice. I am very grateful to you and

the school for giving me the opportunity.

Yes, well, we must make sure the school governors have

no grounds to cause you trouble. She hesitated, and

Beatrice watched her struggle to go on.

They did not want to employ me, said Beatrice. She did

not ask it as a question.

Well, not exactly, said Agatha. But they will come

round as long as you succeed. She paused. I am one of

only two women on the Board of Governors, you know. I

am in a very delicate position, in which I must temper my

impatience for reform and choose my battles with care. We

have women teachers, of course, to teach appropriate

subjects. But in this case, we had some difficulty in findinga suitable replacement for the head Latin master, who left

us so abruptly, and your qualifications so exceeded the

usual applicants that I Well, I did all within my power

to push your consideration.

Thank you.

Of course, you are not quite what I expected, sheadded. She did not elaborate, and Beatrice, under the pres-

sure of the silence, tried to breathe in a slow way that

might suppress any flush in her cheeks.

I assure you my university and teaching certificates are

quite in order, she said finally.

Your qualifications, and Lady Marbelys description ofyour wide travels and experience, suggested someone

older, said Agatha.

I put away the fripperies of girlhood some years ago,

said Beatrice. I have served as my fathers secretary and


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24

constant companion for many years. But more to the point,

I do not have the luxury of waiting around to mature like

a cheese. She smiled to soften the rebuke. I do not intend

to marry, Mrs Kent, and now that my father is gone I must

earn my bread. Surely you would not deny me the work for

which I have studied and trained?

I would not, said Agatha. But lets not mention any

such awkward necessity. I think we should rely on your

connection to the Marbelys, and to the suggestion of teach-

ing as service rather than profession, to carry the day.

As you wish, said Beatrice, trying to keep the dryness

out of her tone as she wondered how to ask about her

wages and accommodation if she was not allowed to

appear in need of either.

Of course, I was older than you when I married myhusband, said Agatha. She did not phrase it as a question,

and so Beatrice, who was tired of people feeling free to

interrogate her on her determination to live free of a

husband, bit her lip and did not answer. Agatha gave a sigh

and continued. The world is changing, Miss Nash, but

very slowly. I hope that through the work I do, and thework you will do, we may further the causes of intelligence

and merit and move our nation forward.

Mrs Kent, am I to suppose that you support the cause

of women? said Beatrice.

Good heavens, no! said Agatha. Such hysteria in the

streets is impossibly damaging. It is only through suchsober activities as school boards and good works, done

under the guidance of our most respected and educated

gentlemen, that we will prove our worth in the eyes of God

and our fellow man. Dont you agree, Miss Nash?


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25

Beatrice was not at all sure she did agree. She rather

thought she might like to vote and to have been admitted

to a university degree at Oxford, her fathers alma mater.

Even the most educated of gentlemen seemed disinclined

to remedy such injustices to women without being

confronted. She was not sure that Agatha Kent was in

earnest, either. The face, under an arched eyebrow, was

inscrutable.

I only know that I want to teach something other than

elementary school, she said. I want to teach and study and

write, as my father did, and to have my efforts treated no

less seriously just because I am a woman.

Agatha sighed. You are an educated person and can be

of use to the country, but women like us need to demon-

strate our worth, rather than demonstrating in the streets.Besides, she added, we dont need all the housemaids

declaring their independence and running off to join the

music hall, do we?

Who would boil the tea? said Beatrice, before she could

stop herself.

You must know, Miss Nash, that you and I will be undersevere scrutiny these next few months. I must be blunt in

saying that I expect you not only to demonstrate your own

superior merit and irreproachable respectability but to

protect my reputation too. I have spent many years, in a

quiet way, establishing a position from where I can do

important work in this town, but I am not without enemies.I see, said Beatrice.

I dont think you do, said Agatha. I have never pushed

for something as outrageous as hiring a woman to teach

Latin, and I am personally responsible for you. Should you


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and I fail in this task, many other projects may come

undone. Beatrice saw a moment of weariness in the kind

face. I have put all my eggs in your basket, Miss Nash. Do

I make myself clear?

Beatrice was curious to feel a tiny sense of purpose

flowering. It was different from the purpose the stubborn

fury with which she had pursued her escape from the

Marbelys. She had not been needed by anyone for many

months. Now Agatha Kent appeared to need her, and

Beatrice felt an echo of the same feeling of determination

that her fathers plans always inspired.

I will not let you down, Mrs Kent, she said.

See that you dont, said Agatha with a warm smile. She

rose to her feet and held out both hands. It was gracefully

done, but Beatrice recognised that she was being dismissed.Goodnight, Mrs Kent.

And just one more thing, Miss Nash, said Agatha, as

Beatrice moved towards the hall. I would not be public

about any yearnings to write. It would be an absolute

disaster for a lady in your position to earn a reputation as

a bohemian.

In the billiard room, Daniel busied himself over the selection

of a cue as if he had not been familiar with Uncle Johns four

old cues since both he and Hugh were in short trousers.

I do wish Aunt Aggie would stop taking on projects, hesaid, sighting along the length of the ebony and rosewood

one picked up by Uncle John in Morocco. He began to

chalk its India-rubber tip, and Hugh, as usual, was left

to turn up the lamps and rack the balls.


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Praise for The Summer Before the War

At once haunting and effervescent, The Summer Before the Wardemonstrates the sure hand of a master. Helen Simonsons charactersenchant us, her English countryside beguiles us, and her historicalintelligence keeps us at the edge of our seats. This luminous story of afamily, a town, and a world in their final moments of innocence is aslingering and lovely as a long summer sunset.

Annie Barrows, author ofThe Truth According to Usand co-author ofThe Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

Helen Simonson has outdone herself in this radiant follow-up to MajorPettigrews Last Stand. The provincial town of Rye, East Sussex, in thedays just before and after the Great War is so vividly drawn it fairlyvibrates. The depth and sensitivity with which she weighs the steep costsand delicate bonds of wartimeand not just for the young men in thetrenches, but for every changed life and heartreveal the full mastery ofher storytelling. Simonson is like a Jane Austen for our day and age

she is that good and The Summer Before the Waris nothing short of atreasure.

Paula McLain, author ofThe Paris WifeandCircling the Sun

Praise forMajor Pettigrews Last Stand

Helen Simonsons debut novel is delightful, warm and marvellously

endearing.The Sydney Morning Herald

In the noisy world of today it is a delight to find a novel that daresto assert itself quietly but with the lovely rhythm of Helen Simonsonsfunny, comforting, and intelligent debut, a modern-day story of love thattakes everyone by surprise, as real love stories tend to do.

Elizabeth Strout, Pulitzer Prize-winning author of Olive Kitteridge

Major Pettigrews Last Stand . . . is a reminder that we need to makethe most of the time we have, even if we live small lives and the steps wetake seem insignificant.

Good Reading

The Summer Before the War - Helen Simonson (Extract)

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Transcript of The Summer Before the War - Helen Simonson (Extract)